


Christmas Under Wraps

by SuburbanSun



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas Fluff, Engagement, F/M, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, Found Family, Marriage Proposal, Non-SHIELD AU, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:10:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5555480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/pseuds/SuburbanSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What better way to propose to his holiday-loving girlfriend than through a Secret Santa exchange? Now, if only Fitz could figure out how to get Jemma as his match-- and keep it a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Under Wraps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dani_meows](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Dani_meows).



> Written for drunkenavocados for the Fitzsimmons Secret Santa exchange! Her prompt: “In a happy AU verse, where things are happy, there is a secret santa exchange, and Fitz is assigned Jemma.”
> 
> (Also want to note, just because people have strong opinions about it, that I call Daisy Skye here because drunkenavocados said she hadn't seen season 2 and calls her Skye. I figured it’s an AU so it doesn't matter much anyway. But fwiw, normally I’d call her Daisy.)
> 
> Thanks to ardentaislinn as usual for help and general encouragement!

“Hurry up, Fitz, or else we’re going to be late.”

Fitz leaned back from his spot in front of the bathroom sink to get a good look at his girlfriend, stilling his toothbrush in his mouth. “We on’ een eleate ansing.”

Jemma slipped on her boots, then sat up on the bed and raised an eyebrow at him. “What was that?”

He shifted back to the sink, out of her sight, and after one last vigorous brush for good measure, spat out the toothpaste and rinsed his mouth. “We don’t even celebrate Thanksgiving.”

“That’s no excuse for being late, is it?”

Fitz let out a loud, theatrical sigh before straightening his tie in the mirror. “I suppose not.” When he peeked back into the bedroom, Jemma was shaking her head with a fond smile on her face.

“Come on. Phil’s been talking about his smoked turkey all week. You don’t want to get there late, or Hunter will have eaten it all.”

Fitz perked up at that. He _had_ heard a lot about Phil’s turkey. He took a few steps to stand right in front of Jemma, grasping her gently by both shoulders and pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “You know food’s the best way to get me out the door.”

She rolled her eyes, turning and heading for the hallway. “Do I ever.”

With a smirk, Fitz grabbed his wallet and keys from the top of the dresser, pocketing both. With a quick glance behind him to make sure she’d already left the room, he pulled open the second drawer all the way, pawing through a mass of rolled-up socks until he reached the very back corner, where a small velvet box sat nestled between a pair of black dress socks and a pair of novelty Christmas tree socks. His gaze lingered on the box for a long moment before he pulled out the festive socks, which he supposed were _almost_ seasonally appropriate.

“Hurry up, Fitz! This party’s going to be lovely and we can’t be late!”

“You only say that because you love holidays more than life itself!” he called back as he pulled on one sock, then another, stepping quickly into his shoes and lacing them up. Even as he followed her out of their bedroom, a portion of his mind remained on the box hidden in his sock drawer, just like it had been ever since he’d purchased it a month prior.

He knew he was going to ask her. _And soon_ , he thought, smiling at the sight of Jemma tapping her foot impatiently in the foyer, a pie clutched in each hand.

He just had absolutely, utterly, completely no idea _how._

 

\---

 

“Ugh,” moaned Fitz, sliding down a little further on the couch and rubbing his stomach. “I could potentially never eat another bite as long as I live.”

Jemma, equally slumped on the couch in their friend Phil Coulson’s posh living room, reached over to pat Fitz’s belly. “I don’t believe that for a second, sweetheart.” He chuckled, surveying the rest of the room. All their friends looked to be in similar states of satisfied fullness, lounging on couches or chairs throughout Phil’s living room and adjoining kitchen. Hunter looked to be nearly asleep where he sat on the carpeted floor in front of the loveseat, head resting against Bobbi’s knee.

“You awake, Hunter?” Fitz asked.

The other man raised his eyebrows, but didn’t quite open his eyes. “Hmm?”

Bobbi nudged his head with her knee. “You’re on dish duty, you know.”

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled. “You Americans certainly know how to put a man into a food coma.”

“That’s what Thanksgiving is all about,” said Skye from her spot in the leather recliner. “We eat and eat and eat until we’re thankful there’s no food left.”

“There are plenty of leftovers,” said May, raising one eyebrow.

Groans came from various corners of the room, but Fitz lifted his head from the back of the couch, meeting May’s eye. “Leftover pie?”

“Yes, leftover pie."

“Really, Fitz?” said Jemma, head lolling to the side to shoot him an amused look.

“I’m just thinking ahead! I’m very forward-thinking in that way.” She scoffed, but reached over and took his hand anyway, giving it a squeeze, and he smiled contentedly. He loved pie, sure, but he loved her the most of all.

“So,” said Phil, clapping his hands together. “I’d suggest we go around the room and say what we’re _actually_ thankful for, but that’s pretty sentimental, and I have my cool-guy reputation to protect.” He ignored the chuckles from the rest of the room, and continued. “So instead, we can focus on the next holiday.”

“Ooh, Christmas!” said Jemma, sitting up straighter with a beaming smile.

“Yeah, it’s finally time to start listening to Christmas music!” said Skye. She pushed herself up from the recliner to grab her phone off the coffee table. A few swift taps later, Wham’s “Last Christmas” was emanating from Phil’s massive sound system. Fitz had made a few internal tweaks to it when he’d helped Phil install it, so the sound of the synthesizers was rich and bold.

“So what’s the plan for Christmas, Phil?” asked Trip, emerging from the kitchen where he’d begun putting leftovers away. “Smoking another turkey, I hope?”

Phil smirked. “Maybe. You’re all welcome here, of course, if you don’t already have plans.” Most of the room shrugged or nodded. That’s how they’d all begun to spend holidays together-- many of them didn’t have family to visit, or lived far enough from their families that it wasn’t always feasible to make the trek home. Fitz and Jemma had a trip planned to England for Jemma’s grandmother’s 90th birthday in January, so paying for another pair of plane tickets the month prior for Christmas just didn’t make sense.

“We’re in,” said Jemma, after a quick nod to Fitz. “As long as you let me help decorate.”

Phil barked out a laugh. “Oh, don’t worry. I remember what happened last year when I decorated the tree myself. The next time you were over, all the ornaments were reorganized and there was about 50% more tinsel on the thing.”

Jemma grinned proudly. “And was it not the most beautiful Christmas tree you’d ever seen in your life?”

Phil shrugged. “It may have been.”

“Alright, alright, now that that’s settled--” Skye was interrupted by a massive yawn. “Let’s talk presents. Should I email you each personalized lists of what to get me, or…”

“Girl, keep talking like that, you’re going to end up with coal in your stocking,” said Trip with a smile that belied his threat.

“What? A girl’s gotta have a wishlist.”

“How about Secret Santa this year?” suggested Bobbi. “Easy, economical, only one person ends up having to buy for Hunter…”

“Hey!”

She leaned forward to smirk down at her on-again-off-again boyfriend (currently on-again, Fitz thought, though he could never be too certain). “You’ve returned or exchanged every present you’ve ever gotten.”

Hunter sniffed. “Can’t help it if I’ve got very particular tastes, love.”

“That, or you have no idea what you want,” she countered.

“I think Secret Santa is a good idea,” said May, who was, as usual, able to identify and defuse a Bobbi-Hunter argument before it began. Fitz had no idea how she did it, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. “We could draw names tonight.”

“Ooh, yes!” said Jemma, wiggling closer to Fitz on the couch and squeezing his hand excitedly. “That gives us so much time to pick out the perfect gift!”

He tilted his head along the back of the couch to watch her face, glowing with cheerfulness. As the others discussed parameters for the gift exchange-- Bobbi suggested a $50 limit for gifts, and Phil decided the reveal should happen after Christmas dinner-- Fitz admired the way Jemma’s bright eyes shifted from person to person, and how she seemed to get more excited for her favorite holiday with each festive plan.

It was in between Hunter’s insistence that someone rig the game so he didn’t have to buy a gift for Bobbi, and Jemma’s gleeful giggle when Phil pulled a box of Christmas decorations out from the hall closet and put a pair of blinking reindeer antlers on May’s head, that Fitz got the idea.

He was going to make damned sure that he got Jemma for Secret Santa. And he already knew what he was going to give her-- the ring that had made a temporary home in the back of his sock drawer.

 

\---

 

The problem, of course, was in the nature of the exchange-- they didn’t call it _Secret_ Santa for nothing.

_[From: Fitz, 11:43 a.m.]: So Secret Santa, huh? Know what you’re getting yet?_

_[From: Skye, 11:44 a.m.]: ugh no idea_

_[From: Fitz, 11:44 a.m.]: I might be able to help you brainstorm._

_[From: Fitz, 11:44 a.m.]: If you want_

_[From: Fitz, 11:44 a.m.]: If you tell me who you picked_

She didn’t text back for several minutes, and Fitz huffed at his desk in the lab. Starting with Skye had been a shot in the dark-- if nothing else, he figured she’d be willing to trade with him if she _had_ drawn Jemma’s name.

Finally, his phone buzzed, and he flipped it over quickly to read her response.

_[From: Skye, 11:49 a.m.]: obvi we’re not supposed to tell each other, but…_

_[From: Skye, 11:49 a.m.]: i got trip. help! what kind of gift says ‘we should totally make out?’_

Fitz frowned. Not only was he no steps closer to getting Jemma for his giftee, but now he felt obligated to help Skye come up with a good ‘you can get in my pants if you want to’ gift. What did he know about seduction, anyway? Jemma had practically had to bash him over the head with her feelings for him before he fully understood what was happening.

_[From: Fitz, 11:53 a.m.]: Hmm I’ll think on it._

_[From: Fitz, 11:53 a.m.]: Btw any idea who got Jemma?_

It was worth a shot, at least.

_[From: Skye, 11:55 a.m.]: no idea, but maybe ask may? she was the one who handled the name-drawing_

_[From: Skye, 11:56 a.m.]: plus lbr may knows everything_

While Skye wasn’t wrong about that last part-- Fitz shuddered to think what secrets lay behind her stoic expression-- he didn’t exactly think he could shoot the older woman a quick text and get an answer out of her.

 

\---

 

“You want to what?” May furrowed her brow, one hand still on the doorknob. He didn’t blame her-- after all, it wasn’t every day that Fitz showed up on her doorstep at five in the morning wearing exercise clothes.

“I just, y’know. Thought I could join you for your morning workout?” He grimaced. He’d known the woman for nearly three years, and still felt strangely unsettled by a mere quirk of her eyebrow.

She regarded him silently for a moment, then turned to go back into her house. Fitz took the fact that she left the door open as an invitation, however begrudging, for him to come in.

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, he was sitting cross-legged on a yoga mat in her sunroom, trying to mimic her pose. (His legs just didn’t _bend_ that way.) She had her eyes closed, and her breathing was deep and even. He felt utterly sure that it was the wrong moment to speak, but at 5:15 in the morning, his mouth seemed to work independently of his brain.

“So, um, May.”

She cracked one eye open, raising both hands to hold them palms-up in front of her in one slow, fluid motion.

“I was wondering… I mean, you don’t _have_ to tell me, if you don’t want to, but…”

May closed her eyes again, and he wasn’t sure if her next deep exhale was yoga breathing or an exasperated sigh. He assumed the latter.

“Y’know, it can wait.” He closed his own eyes and focused on his breathing. In, and out. In, and out. After several sets of inhales and exhales, he thought he was getting the hang of it-- or at least, he felt like he was beginning to understand the benefit of an early morning workout session. He’d been all keyed up since deciding on the ‘how’ part of the proposal, and all this breathing nonsense actually seemed to be relaxing him.

“Up,” said May’s voice from above. He opened his eyes to see her standing over him with her arms crossed, and he immediately jumped up from the ground, joints only kind of protesting as he quickly untangled his legs.

“Oh, was that not-- was that not it?”

She stared. “No, Fitz, my early morning workout routine does not consist of fifty minutes of deep breathing exercises.”

He chuckled. “Ah, of course. Knew that.”

“Hope you’re hydrated,” she said as she rolled up her yoga mat, and he thought he caught one corner of her mouth rising in a smirk. He tried to remember the last time he’d had a glass of water. _This can’t end well._

By 6:30, Fitz was completely covered in sweat. His legs felt more like a gelatinous compound than flesh and bone, which was why he was sprawled out on his back on the floor instead of standing up and stretching for the cool-down part of the workout like May. His chest rose and fell with his labored breathing, and he tried unsuccessfully to prevent the sweat on his face from dripping down and stinging his eyes. How did people _do_ this every day?

“Here,” said May, setting something down on the ground beside his head. When he finally pried his eyes open, he saw it was a glass of ice water, and he sat up and chugged three-quarters of it. After several minutes of just sitting there, his breathing began to calm and his heart rate began to slow. Once she  finished with her stretches, May perched on the bench by the window.

“You did well today,” she said, and he laughed. “Better than I expected, at least.”

“That’s more like it.”

She took a sip from her own water bottle and shrugged. “The invitation is open. Any day at 5 a.m., you’re welcome to join me.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Though I don’t exactly recall extending the invitation to begin with.”

In his post-exercise haze, he’d almost forgotten why he’d actually come over. “Oh, right. Um.”

“I’m guessing you came over for more than a good workout.”

“Yeah, I just-- like I said earlier, you don’t have to tell me, but I was just wondering if you might know who got Jemma’s name in Secret Santa?” He hated the way his voice got higher at the end of the question, like it was a matter of national security, like he was asking May for nuclear codes or to help him bury a body. It was a silly gift exchange, he told himself (only of course it wasn’t silly, not when the opportunity to spend the rest of his life with the woman he loved was at stake).

May stared down at him. “You do realize it’s called ‘Secret’ Santa.”

“Yes.”

“As in, no one is supposed to know who anyone else drew.”

“Yes.”

“So why would you think I’d know, if I didn’t draw Jemma’s name myself? Which I didn’t, by the way.”

He bit his lip with a shrug. “You just always seem to know things?”

She regarded him silently for another long moment, then nodded. “That’s fair. I’d give Hunter a call, if I were you.”

Fitz’s eyes widened and he looked up at her, mouth hanging open. “Hunter has her?”

May stood, picking up his empty water glass and carrying it into her kitchen. “Shouldn’t you be getting home to get ready for work?”

He scrambled to his feet, following her into the rest of the house. “You’re sure it’s Hunter?”

“Time to go, Fitz.” With a pointed look, she ushered him to the front door, but he was too eager and excited to take the hint.

“You don’t need to double-check, or anything?”

“Tell Jemma I said hello.” She opened the door and nudged his shoulder with one hand. His face broke into a grin as he stood on her front stoop.

“May, you’re a lifesaver.” He walked backwards down her front steps.

“Goodbye, Fitz.” She shut the door with a shake of her head, and Fitz stared after it for a moment before his mind fully caught up with him. He turned and walked down the driveway toward his car, legs unsteady underneath him with every step, though he didn’t really care at the moment. All he cared about was finding Lance Hunter and convincing him to trade names.

 

\---

 

"No deal, mate.”

Fitz’s face fell. “Why not?”

Hunter took a large bite of a taco. “Because,” he said around a mouthful of beef and cheese. “Jemma’s the easiest person in the universe to shop for. A couple of candles, a bottle of smelly lotion, and you’re done.”

Fitz wrinkled his nose. “That’s not true.” The hours he’d spent agonizing over past birthday gifts could attest to that. He reached across the table for the salt shaker and sprinkled some on their basket of chips, dipping one in salsa and crunching on it. Hunter just shrugged.

“Easier than buying for _Phil_. I don’t envy you that one, really I don’t. The man’s got everything he could ever need. Unless you can come through with an autographed replica of Captain America’s shield, you’re out of luck.”

“That’s not true, either. Phil’s easy to buy for! You could just get him…” Fitz took a sip of his beer. “You could get him, uh.”

Hunter raised his eyebrows. “See?”

Fitz had hoped for a simple trade-- he’d end up with Jemma and Hunter would end up with Phil and everyone would be happy. That no longer seemed likely. He sighed, scooping up another heaping portion of salsa with a chip. “Look, can’t you just do me a favor? I’ll owe you one.”

Hunter chewed a chip thoughtfully. “Owe me how much?”

“Whatever you want.” He wanted to take it back as soon as he’d said it-- Hunter should never be given carte blanche for _any_ thing-- but the look on Hunter’s face said it was too late.

“Whatever I want, eh? Like, say…”

Fitz braced himself.

“You’ll come by my place and figure out why my DVR isn’t working properly?”

_What?_

“Your DVR’s not working?”

Hunter took a swig of beer and nodded. “Yeah. Turn it on, it’s just a blank screen. Dunno what’s happening.”

“Is it on the right input?” Hunter just looked at him blankly, and Fitz had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “You probably just need to--” He shut his mouth quickly as he had the sudden realization that this trade might be easier than he thought. “Just, ah, need to let me come over and take a look at it. It could be any number of things, really, all _highly_ technical. I’ll need to bring over _all_ my tools.”

“Sooner rather than later, alright? BBC America’s about to start airing the new season of Downton.”

Fitz raised his eyebrows at his friend.

“What? It reminds me of home.”

“Never mind that. We’ll get you all set up and ready to check in with the Crawleys in no time.” Hunter took another bite of taco and gave him a relieved smile around the mouthful. “If-- and only if-- you trade Secret Santa names with me.”

Hunter swallowed, wiping his mouth with his napkin. His brows knitted together anxiously. “And if I don’t agree to trade…”

“You’ll never know what happens to Lady Mary.”

Fitz wished he had his phone out to take a picture of the look on Hunter’s face, pale and worried. Hunter nodded solemnly. “Alright. I’ll do it. You’ve got Jemma and I’ve got…” He grimaced. “Phil.”

Blissful relief washed over Fitz, and he leaned back in the booth, the tension draining from his shoulders. At least step one of his plan was under control.

“Why’d you want to get Jemma so badly, anyway? Shouldn’t you be getting her something in addition to our little Secret Santa thing?”

The question gave Fitz pause. So far, he hadn’t told anybody about his plan. He hadn’t intended to, but now that there was one fewer obstacle in his way, the idea of keeping it completely to himself for the next three weeks seemed impossible. He pressed his mouth together in a tight line, drumming his fingers on the table.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Can I keep a secret? You didn’t know me and Bob were together for the first three months of our relationship, did you?”

“Which time?”

Hunter frowned. “Fair point. Continue.”

Fitz considered for a moment, then leaned forward in the booth, lowering his voice (as if there was someone lurking in their favorite taco joint just waiting to spoil the surprise). “I want to propose to Jemma. During Secret Santa. So, I kind of had to make sure I ended up with her name.”

“Propose marriage?”

“Ye-es?” Fitz realized he should have considered his audience-- after Hunter and Bobbi’s romantic history, the man wasn’t exactly all aboard the marriage train.

“Fitz.”

“Yeah?”

Then Hunter broke into a beaming smile, clapping his hands together in front of him. “Fitz, you absolute beauty!”

Fitz’s eyes widened. “You’re excited about this? I figured-- you know, you don’t believe in marriage. Anymore.”

“Well, sure, not for me, or for me and Bobbi-- but for you and Jemma? I think it’s a great idea. We’ve got to celebrate, mate!” He craned his neck to look for their waiter, signaling for another round of beers.

His enthusiasm was catching, and soon Fitz had what he was sure looked like a big, dopey grin on his face. The waiter brought two more beers, and they clinked their mugs together before taking big sips. Fitz set his down and tried to quell his excitement.

“You know, she hasn’t said yes yet. Maybe we should save the celebrating until then.”

“Oh come off it, as if she’d say anything else.”

“You think so?” Ever since he’d bought the ring, Fitz hadn’t really stopped to consider the idea that Jemma might say no. After all, they’d discussed marriage in theory, and made sleepy plans for hazy futures while lying in bed at night. But somehow, hearing Hunter’s reassurance still felt like something Fitz had never known he’d needed.

“Of course! You’re Fitz and Jemma. You’re Fitzsimmons. It’s time you stopped living in sin, anyway. Time she made an honest man out of you.”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Fitz said hurriedly. “It has to be a surprise.”

That made Hunter’s smile waver. “Are you sure that’s how she wants it done? A total surprise, in front of the lot of us, et cetera? I only ask because the first time I proposed to Bobbi, she slapped me. She said yes, but she slapped me. Apparently the stands of a football match wasn’t where she’d always dreamed of it happening.”

Fitz nodded emphatically. He’d given that part a lot of thought after the idea had entered his mind on Thanksgiving night. “Jemma loves Christmas, and surprises, and all of you are like our family. I really think this is what she’d want.”

Hunter began to look excited again. “Sounds like a good plan to me, then. Just one last question.”

“What’s that?”

“Have you picked a best man?”

 

\---

 

Over the course of the next couple of weeks, Fitz grew more and more on edge. Somehow, during the time he’d had the ring stashed in his drawer, totally unsure about when or how or where to give it to her, he’d felt fine. At peace. And now, the knowledge of the how and when and where made him half-crazed, like the secret might spill from his lips at any moment.

He tried spending less time with Jemma, which lasted about five minutes (he texted her from the pub just to ask what she was up to, resulting in Trip and Hunter skipping his turn in their game of darts-- something they were all too pleased to do, since his supreme grasp of physics meant he usually won). He tried throwing himself into his work, which helped during the hours he spent in the lab, but did nothing for his hours at home.

In the end, he just decided all mentions of marriage, engagements, weddings and the like were off limits. He’d simply avoid the subjects entirely, and his secret would be safe.

“Know who gave me a ring today?” Jemma asked as she climbed into bed beside him one night, a week before Christmas.

“What? Who did what?” Fitz sat up straighter in bed, letting the engineering journal he’d been reading fall to the side and slip off the covers onto the floor. He could feel his face heating up, and he tried to act nonchalant.

“May. She had more information on that biogenetics conference she told me about at Thanksgiving.”

 _On the phone_. May had given Jemma a ring on the phone. _God_ , Fitz thought, _I’m a mess_. He tried to school his expression into looking normal, though he could scarcely remember what normal looked like.

“She also asked if you’d put her exercise tips into practice,” she said, scooting further underneath the covers and snuggling up closer to his right side.

“Oh,” he said, his voice sounding strange even to his own ears. “Did she?”

“Mmhmm. Do you have a secret?”

Fitz felt his heart stutter in his chest, and he swallowed hard. “A secret?”

A smirk on her face, Jemma slid her hand over his stomach to his left arm, where she gently squeezed his bicep. “Are you secretly trying to get more fit? Because you know I like you just as you are.” She leaned her head down and dropped a kiss to his shoulder. “You’re perfectly well-formed.”

He could feel his cheeks heating up for a variety of reasons, and he scoffed lightly. “I’m not secretly doing anything. Can’t a man look after his own health every now and then?”

“Of course you can.” She chuckled. “You just typically choose not to. You’d forgo all vegetables if I didn’t have some say in it.”

“Not true. I love a good spinach quiche.”

“Yes, and I know the cheese-to-spinach ratio of your preferred quiche recipe, and it is appalling.”

He shrugged, then pulled his arm out from where it had been pinned between them and wrapped it around her shoulders, tugging her closer to his chest. “So I may have spent a morning working out with May. We’re getting older, you know. Got to take care of ourselves.”

“Let me know next time you’re up for a round of strenuous exercise,” she said, lips brushing against his t-shirt-covered chest, and he lifted his head off the pillow to raise an eyebrow at her. She raised one right back. “I did actually mean exercise-- the kind you do in trainers and yoga pants-- but I suppose there’s more than one way to get a solid workout in.” She stretched up to meet his lips halfway, hand trailing up to scratch at the the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Fitz deepened the kiss and pulled her tight against him, and as she slipped one leg in between his, all thoughts of secret-keeping flew from his mind entirely.

 

 

Some time later, Fitz lay on his side next to Jemma catching his breath, his fingertips stroking slow circles on her right shoulder. She let out a nose-crinkling yawn and pulled the sheets tighter around them.

“You know, May reminded me we’ve got Secret Santa next week, too,” she said, fighting another yawn.

Fitz’s mind was still blissfully blank, so her words didn’t jolt him into full alert like they might have earlier in the evening. “Mmhmm?”

“Yeah. I’ve still got to get a gift for my person. I know exactly what I’m getting her, though.”

“Hmm?” He tilted his head back to look at her. “You’re not supposed to let on who you’ve got, y’know.”

Jemma rolled her eyes and shifted to lie on her side so they were face to face. “I can tell _you,_ though.”

Fitz’s nerves were starting to kick in. “What? No, you can’t.”

“I can’t?”

“Well, you _can_. But you shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

He tried to scoff, and it came out more like a choked cough. “Because it’s called _Secret_ Santa for a reason.”

“Ugh, Fitz.” She reached over and gave his bare hip an affectionate squeeze, trailing her hand up over his ribs. He shivered a bit in response. “We tell each other all our secrets.”

“But--”

“I have Bobbi."

He sighed, reaching up to run an anxious hand through his hair. “Now you’ve done it, Simmons.”

She raised her eyebrows at the usage of her last name, clearly amused by his annoyance. “Have I, _Leo_?”

Fitz scowled. “Yes! Now how am I supposed to act surprised when she opens her gift?”

“That’s illogical, my dearest Fitz.” She scooted closer and pecked a kiss on the tip of his nose, causing his frown to deepen, which unfortunately only made her laugh. “She’s the only one who needs to be surprised. Now who do you have?”

 _Bloody hell._ She hadn’t asked him that question since they’d drawn names at Thanksgiving, not even once, and so he hadn’t even prepared an answer to give her. “No one.”

She narrowed her eyes. “No one?”

“Well… I’m not going to tell you just because you told me!” He flailed his free arm around a bit, unsure if he was trying to distract her from her question or to simply channel his nerves into physical motion. It didn’t work on either count.

“Of course not.” He felt the tightness in his chest dissipate, just a little. “But I’m curious. And I can help you pick out a gift, if you haven’t got one already. And--” She tightened her hand where it rested on his side, stretching her body out and leaning toward him until her breasts just brushed against his chest and her nose nuzzled against his own. “--you should tell me anyway. Then it can be _our_ secret.”

Well, that was completely and utterly unfair. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and let out a long exhale through his nose, trying to think of what he should say. Finally, his lips barely touching hers, he found himself saying-- “Hunter.”

Jemma laughed and rested her forehead against his. “Can’t say I’m accustomed to you saying Hunter’s name while we’re naked in bed together, but I’m glad you told me.” She leaned back and nestled her head into her pillow, looking thoughtful. “He’s not the easiest to shop for, according to Bobbi, but I’m sure we can come up with something.”

Fitz, for his part, was trying not to worry too much about the fact that he’d just lied to the woman he was about to propose to. It was a harmless lie, wasn’t it? “Already got something,” he said, his mind elsewhere.

“Ooh, what did you get for him?”

 _Shite._ “A racquetball racquet,” said Fitz, because it was the first thing that popped into his mind.

“Oh, does Hunter play?” asked Jemma around another yawn. Now that she’d gotten her answer, she seemed content to drift off to sleep, still snuggled up close to Fitz.

“Mmhmm.”

As Jemma’s breathing became deeper and more even, Fitz found himself completely awake. _Thank god Christmas is in a week_ , he thought. He wasn’t sure he could keep his secret-- or maintain this newfound web of lies-- for much longer than that.

 

\---

 

“Ho ho ho, have you been a good girl this year?” Hunter greeted Jemma at the door to Phil’s house with a booming voice, tugging on the fluffy white pom of his Santa hat until it bounced. Jemma gave him a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, then carried the case of beer they’d brought over into the kitchen, leaving Fitz alone with Hunter.

“And what about you, little boy? Not on the naughty list, are you?”

Fitz was a ball of nervous energy, and shoved one hand in his pocket to try to keep still. “Hope not.”

“Nah, I’m sure you’re gonna get everything you want for Christmas.” His attention was drawn to the wrapped gift in Fitz’s free hand-- which was clearly the shape of a racquet. Hunter frowned. “That doesn’t look like a ring.”

“Shh!” Fitz’s eyes darted toward the kitchen, but Jemma looked too preoccupied with helping Phil taste-test dinner to pay them any mind. “This is for you, I s’pose.”

“You… shouldn’t have?”

Fitz sighed. “I know. But Jemma kept asking me who I had for Secret Santa, and what I was getting for them, and I broke, and I had to tell her _some_ thing.”

“So you told her it was me?” He looked around, then joked, “In the foyer? With the tennis racquet?”

“It’s a racquetball racquet, actually.”

Hunter nodded dubiously, taking it from Fitz and leading him into the living room. “Well, never too late to pick up a new sport, I guess.” He set it down beneath the massive Christmas tree in the corner. Jemma and Fitz had come over to help Phil decorate it the week after Thanksgiving, and Fitz smiled a little at the memory of Jemma stretching up on her toes to place the ornaments on the highest boughs. He shot another glance at the kitchen, and seeing that she had her back turned, fished the ring box out of his pocket. He’d wrapped it in the same paper as the racquet, skipping the bow (after all, it would just get crushed in his pocket, and he couldn’t propose to Jemma with a crushed bow, could he?).

Fitz pressed his lips together and took a deep breath, then tucked the little box beneath the pile of presents beneath the tree. No turning back now (as if he’d ever, ever want to).

 

 

Christmas dinner was delicious, though Fitz barely ate a bite of it. He pushed his food around on his plate and tucked enough bites into his napkin that he didn’t think anyone noticed, though Jemma did shoot him a few furtive looks during the meal.

“Presents first, then dessert?” asked Skye once most everyone had pushed their plates away.

Jemma reached over and rubbed at the back of Fitz’s neck. He could feel himself melt a little into her touch, even as the tension that had been building in his shoulders for weeks remained. “Oh, I don’t know, Skye. You might have to fight Fitz. Dessert’s a pretty high priority in our household.”

Fitz turned to look at her, warming under her gaze, and chuckled breathily. “I don’t know. There might be some merit to, um, getting to the presents sooner rather than later.” After a moment, he added, “This time,” because she wasn’t _wrong_ about dessert.

“Alright-- everyone convene in the living room in 10 minutes and we’ll get started on Secret Santa?” Phil suggested. The others all nodded, pushing their chairs back and gathering plates and dishes to carry over to the sink.

After a bit of light cleanup, Fitz trailed after Jemma to the loveseat, which had been left empty for them as the others filed into the room, and sat down. His head felt a little fuzzy, and he was thankful for Jemma’s warm hand resting on his thigh, tethering him to her, helping him not let his nerves get the better of him without even knowing it.

“I’ll pass them out,” offered May, sparing Fitz a look that told him that somehow, she knew. It made him feel the tiniest bit calmer.

Then May picked up the first gift on the pile, handed it to Trip, and the game had begun.

 

 

It only took twenty minutes to get through five gifts and their subsequent reveals-- the look Trip gave Skye when he opened her gift made it seem like she had indeed succeeded at finding a present that said ‘let’s make out’. With each gift, Fitz began to feel more and more like he might throw up his Christmas dinner.

“Alright, and this next gift is for-- Hunter,” said May, reading the tag on a squat box meticulously wrapped in brown paper. Fitz stiffened, and Jemma stirred next to him.

“What happened to the racquet?” she whispered, sidling up closer to him. He couldn’t speak. He could barely look in her direction, so afraid she’d read everything she needed to know on his face, and he kept his eyes on Hunter instead.

“Ehm… sure, let’s open it,” Hunter said, clearly a bit uncertain of how to help keep up the facade. He shrugged a little in Fitz’s direction and began to peel the paper off the box. Once it was open, he pulled out a box DVD set of British B-movies. “Hey, nice! Some of these are really rare!”

“That’s from me,” said Trip with a little salute, and Hunter nodded his thanks.

On Fitz’s right, Jemma shifted in her seat to look at him. “Fitz?” He couldn’t face her, not yet, but he could see her confused frown out of the corner of his eye. He tried to focus on the deep breathing exercises May had taught him weeks ago. In, and out. In, and out.

“Jemma?” said May softly, holding out the small wrapped box. “Your turn.”

It took a long moment for Jemma to turn away from Fitz. She drew in a deep breath, then climbed off the loveseat to accept her gift. He thought he felt her give his leg a squeeze as she got up.

“My turn,” she said, her voice wavering just a bit. She took the box from May, who sat back down in the corner recliner, leaving Jemma to stand in the middle of the room facing Fitz. She met his gaze with her own, and that’s the moment he finally felt calm and clear.

With a small nod, she turned her attention to the gift in her hands and slowly pulled the paper apart, careful not to tear it or muss it in any way. Usually Fitz was the one to unwrap presents like that, while she dug right in.

Once she’d peeled off the paper, she folded it gently, turning to set it down on the coffee table behind her.

 _This is it_.

Fitz let out one last shuddering breath, then pushed himself from his perch on the loveseat to kneel down in front of Jemma. When she turned back around, her eyes immediately met his and she gave him a little nod.

“Open it, Jemma,” he said softly, and she did. He knew that she’d known what she’d find inside, but the sight of the ring seemed to move her anyway, and a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh and a sob got caught in her throat. “Jemma--”

“Yes.” Her eyes were shining down at him.

He sucked in another deep breath and continued. “Will you--”

“Yes.” She brought her free hand to her chest and pressed her palm to her heart as if to hold in her emotions. He knew the feeling.

“--marry--”

“Yes!” Before he could get out the last word, she’d reached out for him and tugged him to standing. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, the open ring box still clutched in one hand, and pulled him in for a searing kiss, which he gladly returned.

Some moments later, Fitz’s perception of the world ceased to be limited to just him and Jemma, and he became aware that everyone else was not only still in the room, but was cheering for them. He reluctantly pulled away from the kiss, still holding her close. When he finally turned a portion of his attention to the others, he let out a relieved laugh at the joy and pride on their faces.

“Put the ring on her, dork!” called Skye, and he extricated himself from Jemma’s embrace only long enough to take the ring box from her and slide the ring onto her left hand. The look on her face as she admired it was heart-stopping. The look on her face when she turned her gaze back to him? There were no words.

 

 

Hours later, Fitz and Jemma were seated on the loveseat, so wrapped up in each other that Fitz hardly cared what the others were doing. His drink had been topped off several times, and dessert had been put in front of him (Skye had gagged and Phil had snapped a quick photo as he and Jemma sappily fed each other bites of pie). He had little awareness of time, space or dimension-- just of Jemma.

Finally, though, the arm pinned to the couch by her shoulder began to fall asleep, and he kind of had to pee, and well, they had the rest of their lives to spend gazing at each other, didn’t they?

He pressed a kiss to her cheekbone, then pulled away, shaking out his arm and cracking his neck as she stretched her arms over her head.

“Hey look, the lovebirds noticed we’re here,” said Hunter. He was sitting on the couch beside Bobbi, who jabbed him with the racquetball racquet that they’d apparently opened at some point, and smiled indulgently at Fitz and Jemma.

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Fitz through a smile that wouldn't go away.

“You know what I just realized?” said Hunter, swatting the racquet away.

“What’s that?” asked Fitz, settling back on the couch with his arm more comfortably around Jemma. She leaned into him and rested her hand on his stomach.

“You went _way_ over on the Secret Santa gift price limit,” he replied. “Like, big time. You rule-breaker.”

Fitz laughed, shaking his head at his friend, and turned his head to the side to kiss Jemma’s temple. Looking down at her beaming smile and the love in her eyes, he couldn’t do anything but shrug. “Worth it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Want to hang out on Tumblr? I'm unbreakablejemmasimmons over there!


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